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BLOSSOMS AND 

DEAD LEAVES 



Blossoms 

and 

Dead Leaves 

Songs of Love 
Songs of War 
Songs of a Cynic 
Songs of Life 



C" BY 

ALiil^RUDE, JR. 

Author of Lights and Shadows. 
Privately printed, 1916 



NOV 2/ Ibk2 






GENESEE J^KESS 

ROCHESTEE. N. Y. 



©C1A6.90576 



o...--. \ 



Just a Word 

I write not for form nor meter, 
I write not to please nor offend. 

I simply jot down strange feelings, 
Which over me, sometimes, wend. 

My poems are not works of beauty ; 

They can hardly be termed works of art, 
Their faults are big ones and many. 

Yet they spring direct from my heart. 

So judge them not too harshly. 

Nor hurriedly cast them aside; 
For they're written by one living. 

With a soul that long ago died. 



Miserere 

You can gather blossoms. 

Beside the seven seas. 
But I . . . can only press my lips. 

To heaps of dry, dead leaves. 



To One who gathers blossoms, 
While I must be content with 
Dead leaves: 

The Author — 1919. 



SONGS OF LOVE 



Songs of I^ove 



Love 

Love is like summer and sunshine, 
Warm, bright and so clear, 

Touching all with its gladness, 
Driving before It all fear. 

Love is like a broad blue ocean. 
Shimmering under the sun, 

Touching all with its wavelets, 
Ever since time has run. 

Love is like a new-born baby. 
Pure, white, spotless and true. 

May God pity you always. 

If Love has never touched you. 



So?igs of J^d^e 



A-Thinkin' 

When I wake up in the mornin' 

And the sun am shinin' bright, 
And the little birds are callin', 

And all the world seems right- 
It's then I think of you, dear, 

Tucked snugly in your bed, 
And I ask the Lord to keep you. 

As I slowly bow my head. 

When I'm workin' in the daytime, 

And the noon whistles blow. 
And we stop to rest a moment, 

And let all things go — 
I still think of you, dear, 

And wish that I could hear 
Your little laugh so pleasin'. 

And sooth in' to my ear. 

And when the evenin' comes 

And our day's work is o'er. 
And I'm sittin' by the fireplace 

A-gazin' at the floor — 
It's then I think of you, dear. 

And then my thoughts are best, 
'Cause the busy worid is hushed, 

And the tired ones are at rest. 



Songs of J^o^e 



And a silent spell comes o'er me, 
As I'm sittin' here alone, 

And I sit and think and wonder 
If you ever think of me. 

I like to think of near friends, 
Of dear friends and true. 

But the bestest thoughts of all, to me. 
Are those I think of you. 



Songs of J^gve 



To You 

Just a line to you, dear, 
The sweetest thing I know, 

To let you know I love you, 
And am thinking of you so. 

You're all that one could wish for, 

Noble, sweet and pure; 
You're the fairest of the fair ones, 

The purest of the pure. 

You're all I have to live for. 

For you I'd live or die. 
May God make you ever happy. 

Without a tear or sigh. 

May he keep you always, dearest. 
And grant you all you ask, — 

Children, love and worldly riches. 
Make you happy till the last. 



Songs of J^d^e 



A-Dreamin' 

The wintry wind is howlin', 

And the snow is fallin' fast, 
And the did gray wolf's a-prowlin', 

Lookin' for his night's repast ; 
The screech owl's a-hootin' 

From out t!he forest gloom, 
And I'm here a-dreamin', 

Dreamin' of you, June. 

The snow it kind of flurries. 

And forms pictures on the pane, 
The river, how it ihurries. 

As it winds along the plain ; 
The trees are all a-swayin', 

And a whisperin' of their doom. 
And I'm here a-dreamin', 

Dreamin' of you, June. 

The Northern lights are gleamin', 

Against the darkened sky, 
My heart Is sort of leapin', 

And my fire is goin' to die ; 
The cold comes in a-creepin'. 

It's goin' to get me soon. 
But I don't care, 'cause I'm dreamin', 

Dreamin' of you, June. 



Songs of J^d^pe 



A Rose 

A pure red rose 

In my garden grows, 

Swayed by each wind that blows. 

Face looking above, 

Petals glowing with love. 

And the rose, reminds me of you. 

Leaves of rich green, 

Bright to be seen. 

Nestle and bend 'gainst the blue. 

Once each year. 

It blooms here, 

And I love it, as I love you. 

Summer over — 'tis gone — 

Fallen leaves strew the lawn, 

But next year it will blossom anew. 

And so I must wait, 

Resigned to my fate. 

Wait for my rose, and you. 



Songs of I^ve 



To Dorothy 

I care not for gold and riches, 
For fame, nor power divine; 

Just give me love, and you, dear, 
No more could I w^ish were mine. 

I'm only a poor human being. 
Toiling my life here below; 

Accomplishing little or nothing, 
But, dearest, I love you so! 

With your love for me ever glowing, 
I could conquer the mightiest task. 

And be the happiest mortal. 
With you, dear, alone at last. 



Songs of J^ve 



God's Gift 

(Adaptation from Robert W. Service.) 

God made a heart of purest gold, 
Warm and sweet and true, 

Placed it in the fairest mould. 
Blest it, and called it you. 

God made the sun to ^hine above. 
The birds to sing with glee, 

But best of all, — Sweet Love, 
God gave you, dear ... to me. 

(Set to music by W. G. Kenyon.) 



Songs of J^e 



You 

An actress? Yes, 

Upon the stage 

I first saw you there — 

With simple smiles 

And girlish wiles 

And auburn tinted hair. 

You moved about, 
As one who glides 
Upon the silvery air — 
With dainty feet, 
Demeanor sweet. 
And coy-like baby stare. 

The play was o'er. 
The curtain down, 
And little you, had fled. 
But in my dreams, 
Your face still beams, 
Before me, in my bed. 

I've gone around, 

For you I seek. 

My ideal, sweet and true 

In vain I try, 

And wonder why, 

I can find none like you. 



Songs of J^e 



If 

If I were an artist, 
I'd paint you, fair — 

As a simple maiden. 
Kneeling in prayer. 

If I were a sculptor, 

I'd carve you in stone- 
As a beautiful Venus, 
Standing alone. 

If I were a poet, 

I'd paint you in rhj^me- 
Known by all as my 

Inspiration divine. 

If I were an actor, 
I'd give up my art 

For one little throb 
Of your tiny heart. 

If I were a millionaire, 
Rolling in wealth, 

I'd keep you always 
Just for myself. 

If I were a pauper. 
With nothing to eat. 

My life I would gladly 
Lay at your feet. 

But I am a dreamer, 
Worthless, it seems. 

But I love you fondly. 
Girl of my dreams. 

10 



Songs of I^ove 



Forgotten 

Forgotten you! 
After all these years 
Of hopes so vague and untold fears. 
Such a thought now gives me pain, 
Life v^^ould then have been in vain, 
If such a thing were true — 
And I had 
Forgotten you. 



11 



Songs of J^pve 



Why? 

To One I Knew. 

Why is it? 

Now . . . we're parted 

That somehow ... I can't forget — 

Your hair . . . your eyes . . . your lips, 

Your perfume . . . they haunt 

Me yet. 

Why is it? 

You say . . . you're happy 

When there's sorrow in your smile, 

And your step is slow 

And tired . . . why do you weep, 

The while? 

Why is it? 

Your heart beats faster, 

Yet your lips are forever dumb, 

Why dwell apart . . . with an aching heart, 

Do you fear . . . that love . . . 

Will come? 



12 



Songs of cQove 



If Ever 

If ever you need a friend . . . 

Or someone to whom you can empty . . 

Your aching heart — 

Remember me . . . remember me! 

If ever you are in trouble . . . 

An6. need a helping hand, to lift your 

Tired head — 

Remember me . . . remember me! 

If ever you need a love . . . 
A true and honest love, to fill 
Your throbbing heart — 
Remember me . . . remember me! 



13 



Songs of J^ove 



What Is There Left? 

What is there left, since you have gone; 

Why is the sky dark and gray ; 
Why does my mind seem clouded; 

Why did you go away? 

When did the flowers wither and die ; 

Why is it I feel old ; 
Why are my heartstrings mute; 

Wliy did our love grow cold? 



14 



Songs of J^ove 



Our Last Night Together 

The round golden moon rose slowly, 

O'er the lake, 

And cast its mysterious dream light 

On you and me. 

And in that moment I forgot 

The man that I ought to be . . . 

For I took you in my arms, and kissed 

Your trembling lips. 

I was weak . . . weak . . . weak. 

I cried and you cried too. 

But through our tears we were happy. 

Oh, so happy, we two. 

For I had learned that you cared 

As I, even though you didn't tell me so, 

You were so wonderful, dear. 

So sweet ... so good. 

And then the time came for you to go . . . 

Back to your home and his. 

But, in spite of it all, 

I was happy . . . supremely so . . . 

Then you left . . . 

And I was all alone, all alone with my 

thoughts. 
And the moon looked down on me, 
In pit3^ 

But in that moment I remembered .. . . 
You . . . 

And I became strong, strong, strong. 
So holding my memory of that moment's 

happiness 
Close to my heart, 
I went away content . . . content. 

16 



Songs of J^ove 



Stolen Happiness 

Why did you see me again, 
Why did you stir up 
Those smouldering embers 
Of useless love? 



And yet, you made me strangely happy; 

For I dreamed strange dreams, 

As before. 

And in the mad moment of forgetfulness 

I lived again . . . and loved again. 

As if I'd ever ceased to love you ; 

As if I'd ever could cease loving you . 

Little dream girl . . . 

Wonderful dream girl. 



16 



Songs of J^gve 



At Parting 

What more is there 'to say, 

Except . . . good-bye? 

I'm sick of being a cad, and tired of letting you 

Think thoughts whidh you sihould not. 

'Tis true, I still care as of old — 

Perhaps a bit mere . . . 

But what of that? 

Am I not big enough and strong enough to 

mask 
My own selfish desires 
When your happiness and welfare 
Are at stake? 

Am I to be classed among those other snakes, 
Those heart-breakers and home-destroyers, 
Those useless men? 
No! No! 

God forbid I God forbid! 
I'll take my aching heart and hold it close, 
And try and greet the grim world 
With a smile. 
And if I fail in this . . . 
'Tis better so . . . 

For then I would have failed in keeping 
Your love too ; 
And that . . . and that . . . 
Would have been worse ... far worse ; 
Good-'bye . . . good-bye . . . 



17 



SONGS OF WAR 



Songs of War 



The War God Speaks 

Lord! Give me not the living, 
I ask for a score of dead ; 

Give me the corpse of a woman, 
Slain asleep in her bed. 

Lord! Give me not of money, 
But torture these mortals below ; 

I crave not for jewels and riches, 
Give me the blood of the foe. 

Give me a new-born baby, 
Slashed by a soldier's sword, 

I want no blessings eternal. 
Curse not the struggling horde. 

Struggling, fighting, killing, 

Each with a mad desire ; 
These are the blessings I ask for, 

They fill my heart's desire. 

Give me your babbling imbeciles. 
The crippled, torn and blind; 

The prisoners beaten and bleeding. 
Till they've lost their mind. 

Look! In that trench before you, 
Behold now, what do you see? 
21 



Songs of War 



The living, the dead, and the dying, 
That work was done by me. 

I now rule the map of all Europe, 

Kings to my liron will bow ; 
My hendhmen. Greed, Lust, Viciousness, 

They rule this world . . . now. 

And I sit above in the heavens. 
And gloat on the horror I see ; 

For the slaughtering, butchering rabble, 
Owe their living 'hell ... to me. 



22 



Songs of War 



Realization 

Olive drab and shining steel, 

Grim guns, in a row — 
God ! The happiness you feel. 

It's your time to go. 

Bursting shells that rend the air, 

Horror at its worst — 
Still you're glad, 'cause you are there, 

Heeded the call, first. 

Blasted homes and wrecks of pride. 
Ghosts of times before — 

Torn limbs you cannot hide, 
This, Oh, God ! is war. 



23 



Songs of War 



Somewhere in France 

Somewhere in France — 

Where the cannons roar, 

And the trenches hold their fill; 
By a cottage gate, 

There a mother waits . . . 
Somewhere in France. 

Somewhere in France — 
When the battle's on. 

In the midst of the awful din ; 
A son, he fights, 

Both day and night . . . 
Somewhere in France. 

Somewhere in France — 
When the broil is o'er. 

And the War God's grown still ; 
When peace has reign. 

He'll return again . . . 
Somewhere in France. 

Somewhere in France — 

There's a bloody grave, 

And in it a son doth lie. 

And a mother's heart yearns, 

For that son's return . . . 
Somewhere in France. 
24 



Songs of War 



Mother 

He lay on the Mood soaked stretcher, 

A mere boy — 

And yet a man. 

His face, a mask of agony. 

But no cry of pain came from his lips. 

In the distance could be heard 

The roar of guns. 

Overhead the airplanes hummed and droned; 

While in and out of the court-yard 

Rolled the ambulances, with their loads 

Of misery. 

The boy on the stretcher moved . . . 

And tried to speak. 

An orderly hurried to him, and bent low 

His ear to the mumbling lips. 

The orderly drew from the boy's pocket, the 

Packet whidh he was trying to reach. 

A picture fell . . . 

The boy grasped it eagerly. 

And a wearied smile . . . stole over his face. 

He coughed and blood trickled from his mouth. 
With an inhuman effort he managed to sit up. 

Mother! Mother! he whispered. 

Then he sank back . . . dead . . . 

The smile was still on his face. 

The look of pain and agony gone, 

The picture still tightly clasped in his hand. 

Thus ... do the men of the world die . . . 
25 



Songs of War 



In the Wake of the Advance 

To-day's all quiet, calm and bright, 
Where yesterday the guns belched forth 
A fiery Hell! 

.The birds are singing in the air, 
Where yesterday — youth's thousands 
Fell. 



26 



Songs of Wa7- 



Kultur? 

A quiet, peaceful valley; 
A farm house — with rural bustle, 
The crowing of chickens, a child, 
A man, a woman, a cat. 



A valley — deathly still and dim — 
A naked wall — a hazy smoke, 
No stir of life or moving thing ; 
A heap of ruins — a man's dead body. 

A broken bowl of milk, a cat, a child — 
Pinned by a bayonet to the ground, 
The hush of death and foul smell of rotting 
flesh. 



27 



Sofigs of War 



Little Brass Tag 

(When a soldier in the German army dies, his brass 
identification tag is sent to his nearest living relative.) 

Only a little brass tag, 

With the numbers, 5-1-2-3; 
All that I've left of my boy 

Who was near and dear to me. 

They dressed him up, in a coat of gray, 

And gave him a nice new gun ; 
And away he went to kill and slay, 

The boy . . . who was my son. 

And to-day . . . Not his letter, but this little 
tag; 

The Vaguemestre brought to me, 
And seared on my heart, by a withered hand, 

Are the numibers . . . 5-1-2-3. 



28 



So?2gs of War 



Tommies 

Left to die . . . to starve ... 

They lay on the floor of the hospital, 

Two Tommies. 

Mere skeletons . . . shadows of their former 

selves. 
Slowly they told their story . . . 
A tale of brutal treatment and inhuman 

cruelty. 
Then they slept . . . 

The armistice was signed, I dropped in for a 

chat. 
With my Tommies, 
And told them the news. 
A look of joy broke forth on their lean, tired 

faces, 
Over-shadowing their pain and suffering. 
**By God . . . but we licked 'em!" 
Then they slept . . . 



29 



Songs of War 



Aftermath 

(Adaptation from Robert W. Service.) 

The world war is over, 

There's the tramp of tired feet — 
As the troops come a-marching, 

Down the crowded street. 

The city's full of gladness, 
The bells are pealing gay — 

On the housetops flags are flying, 
As when they went away. 

The crowds are hoarse from cheering, 
And they line along the streets^ — 

While the troops are onward marching. 
Hear the beat of many feet. 

And then there comes a shadow, 

Sudden, dark and drear — 
The bells stopped their pealing, 

The crowds have ceased to cheer. 

There came a voice from heaven, 
It cried with anguished pain. 

And I saw a second column. 
The dead come back again. 

"Tear down your joyful colors. 
And hang up sable black." 

The sky grows darker, darker. 
For the dead are coming back. 



30 



Songs of War 



Aftermath — Continued 

They are coming onward, coming, 

Ghastly, sad and slow. 
They are coming onward, coming. 

With haunting eyes of woe. 

They come with sunken faces. 

All crimson wrecks of pride, 
And their wounds show forth in places 

That their khaki cannot hide. 

They are coming now in thousands, 

Their faces all a-gleam. 
And I close my eyes in horror. 

My God ! 'Twas but a dream. 

A thousand flags were flying, 

A thousand bells did ring. 
A thousand voices crying, 

A thousand hearts did sing. 

When we cheer our troops returning. 

And our flags are all unfurled, 
Don't forget the ones behind them, 

Dwelling in another world. 

They're the ones who paid the hlood price, 

Long and heavy is their score. 
And they fought and died to save us. 

And their country — nothing more. 



Songs of War 



De Profundis 

Out of the deep, out of the deep, 
Come those who mourn, 

And those who weep. 
For those now clasped 

In death's long slleep — 

Out of the deep, out of the deep. 

Out of the deep, out of the deep. 

Come those who walk, 
And those who creep, 

Poisoned, scorched where 
Hell's fires leap — 

Out of the deep, out of the deep. 

Out of the deep, out of the deep, 

Come those who watch 
Their life blood seep. 

The seeds of vice, they 
Didn't sow, they reap. 

Out of the deep, out of the deep. 



32 



Songs of Wai' 



From the Front 

Back from the front, 
A crippled thing, 

They brought him back, 
To us, this thing. 

No longer, now, 
The youthful chap, 

That used to snuggle 
In my lap. 

But taken in his 

Youthful prime. 
And cut by war. 

An awful crime. 

And on his cot 

He'd lie and rave, 

Poor broken boy. 
And oh ! so brave. 

A broken toy. 

Now cast aside. 
God ! how I wished 

That he had died. 

But on through life. 
He thus must go, 

Reaping the seeds 
The War Gods sow. 



33 



Songs of War 



From the Front— Continued 

Of broken limb, 

And darkened eye, 
Marked for life, 

He could not die. 

This is the work 

Of mighty Mars, 
Who sits and gloats 

Among the stars 

On misery and pain 

Down here — 
Which makes our life 

Of dread and fear. 

Our sons come back 
Dim wrecks of pride — 

No longer as 

They left our side. 

And we the burden 

Thus must bear — 
Of torn limbs 

And vacant stare, — 

Of deafened ears, 

From cannons' roar — 

Helpless victims, 
Maimed by war. 



34 



Songs of War 



Comfort 

All is dark, 

And all is dreary, 

Hear the never ending noise. 

I am blind, 

And I am weary, 

God ! The horror and the Hell. 

See the armies, 

Like a flood. 

On they roll across the fields. 

Smell the powder, 

And the blood. 

Bodies lying stark and cold. 

All is over, 

I am dying. 

Thanks to God ! The end is near. 

For the sight 

Of comrades lying. 

Has rotted my soul away. 



35 



Songs of War 



The War God Laughed 

The War God smiled, 

A hellish sight, 

As he sat on his throne above. 

And gazed on the fields of Europe — 

Soaked with crimson blood. 

The War God smiled, 

And then he grinned. 

As he watched the struggling horde. 

As they fought and tore, 

As they cursed and swore, 

While the dead lay 'round, 

On the blood-red ground. 

And the women cried, 

For the men who'd died — 

And children starved in the streets. 

The War God grinned. 

And then he laughed. 

As the voice of God he heard. 

For the voice cried forth in anguish, 

"Peace to all, on earth." 



36 



SONGS OF A CYNIC 



Songs of a Cynic 



Nothing 

Out of the nothingness I came, 
Out of an empty sea. 

Out of a different world I came, 
Out of an empty space, 
To sojourn on this earth a- while, 
To study the human race. 

Now my study is over, 
And my work is done; 
And I must return towards 
The sun. 

Back to the nothingness I go, 
Back to an empty sea. 



39 



Songs of a Cynic 



Unforeseen 

You laughed at me, 

You smirked and sneered, 

You taunted, gloated, and you jeered. 

You heaped abuses on my head, 

You even wished that I were dead, 

But never thought that you'd die too ! 

And then . . . Why then, I'd laugh at you. 



40 



Songs of a Cynic 



Soliloquy 

Thought you knew a lot while alive, 

Didn' yuh? 
Thought you'd go to heaven when you died, 

Didn' yuh? 
How about those here on earth, 
Those you held down from their birth, 
What to you are their lives worth? 
Thought you settled their scores' dearth, 

Didn' yuh? 

Thought you'd live a long time yet, 

Didn' yuh? 
Thought you'd played a safe sure bet, 

Didn' yuh? 
You with wealth, power and fame, 
Grasping money, gold for gain, 
Not prepared for death which came. 
But you took the call the same, 

Didn' yuh? 



41 



So?igs of a Cynic 



The Devil's Brew 

The Devil took his mixing glass, 
Made a drink for me and you. 

Of all life's joys and pain 'twas made, 
And he called it the Devil's Brew. 

With a dash of gin, 
And a little grin. 

And a harlot's frozen smile, 
Add an ounce of dope, 
And a hangman's rope. 

Flavor with greenish bile. 

Take a pure girl's heart. 
Rend it part from part. 

Mixed with a million lice. 
Add a dram of pain, 
And a wronged girl's shame, 

With a pound or so of vice. 

And some human milk, 
Mixed with crime's worst silt. 

Gathered from life's big flood. 
Boil it well, 
On the fires of Hell, 

And the draft is red as blood. 



42 



Songs of a Cynic 



Shake it well, 
Watch it swell, 

Then toss it to earth all a-flame, 
Where those who thirst, 
Gan drink it first. 

And sink to the depths of shame. 

The Devil took his mixing glass, 
Made a drink for me and you. 

Of all life's joys and pain 'twas made, 
And he called it the Devil's Brew. 



43 



Songs of a Cynic 



Nakedness 

You're rotten, you know it, 
You snivelling fools; 
You excuses for women, 
You slime gathering pools ; 
With your clothes and nakedness, 
You're but shams. 
But you can't fool God, 
Though you may fool man. 



44 



Songs of a Cynic 



Buried Alive 

It is damp and dark and slimy wet, 

My prison walls of blackest coal 
Gleam darkly, shiny as the sweat 

Oozes out of my body as I roll. 

Three days — I've lain under here. 
Starved, cold, thirsty and sore sick; 

All hopes now gone and death is near — 
"Is that the ringing of a pick?" 

''Good God," I know they'll try to come, 
And take me from this living Hell. 

The darkness and the slime-bred scum. 
And I'm afraid — afraid of — well! 

The horrors of this everlasting dark, 
Are greater than the deadliest dream. 

They seem to coil around me — hark! 

This silence all alone, God, I could scream. 

My body aches, my soul is rent with pain, 
I wonder if they'll get to me in time. 

I wonder if I'll stand this awful strain. 
Of lying three days amidst this awful slime. 

My lips are swelled, my tongue is black. 
My eyes stare from their sockets red. 

At last the light sifts through a crack, 
They've come . . . too late . . . for "I am 
dead." 



45 



Songs of a Cynic 



A Green Christmas 

Not a sign of snow . . . 

Gaunt bare trees 

Stretching their branches toward the sky, 

The ground is hard and dry. 

The cold creeps into your bones, 

As the wind . . . coils about you. 

The river is silent and black, 
The sky dull and threatening; 
People hurry to and fro; 
Yesterday I saw several funerals. 
It is a green Christmas, 
And the grave-yards will be full. 



46 



Songs of a Cynic 



Blood 

Blood! Blood! 

Always her blood 

Oozing before my eyes. 

Red as her hair, 

And her eyes' glassy stare 

Pleading with me, 

As she died. 

Blood! Blood! 

Always it's blood ; 

See how it swells and swells. 

It blackens my brain, 

Oh ! God ! End this pain, 

For it's worse than 

A thousand hells. 

Blood! Blood! 
Is there no end; 
Nothing to give me peace 
From the shuddering dawn, 
And the black night's wan? 
Nothing — but 
Death's release. 



47 



Songs of a Cynic 



In a Lonely Grave 

Hidden from sight, 

In eternal night, 

While the rotting boards cave in, 

'Neath the pine tree's shade, 

In a lonely grave, 

I am paying the price of sin. 

Last year I died, 

And my friends all cried, 

Then they put me underground — 

And I've lain here. 

For near a year, 

Slimy vv^orms crawl all around. 

The coffin shrinks, 

My carcass shrinks. 

And the flesh drops slowly from my bones. 

In a deep, dark grave, 

I lie and rave, 

While the grave rats gnaw and drone. 

In a six foot trench, 
With an awful stench, 
Day by day I rot and rot. 
Bones all gnawed white, 
I'm a hellish sight. 
Dead! A dirty drunken sot. 

Hidden from sight, 

In eternal night, 

While the rotting boards cave in. 

'Neath the pine tree's shade, 

In a lonely grave, 

I am paying the price of sin. 

48 



Songs of a Cynic 



Lest You . . . Rejoice 

Lest you . . . rejoice in the thought 

That I still think of you. 

You, who were wonderfully wise, 

And who once meant so much 

To me, 

Cannot now . . . sting tears to my eyes. 

And I wonder now. 

If a slight pang of regret 

Eats at your heart ... of stone. 

For the thing that you 

Made of me. 

God! If I'd only known. 

If I'd only known how 
Easy it was to forget 
The fragrance of you . . . 
To forget your touch, 
Your eyes, your hair, 
Your expression . . . too. 

So I tell you now. 

Without regret . . . 

Or the pains which rend; 

Thoughts of you are lost. 

Your presence ... in my life's 

At an end. 



49 



Songs of a Cynic 



If You Should Call Me 

If you should call me, would I come? 

Who knows? 

I've done foolish things before, 

And somehow ... I can't quite forget 

The rare beauty of your eyes, 

And the freshness of that last kiss. 

Its memory still thrills me and haunts 

My weary heart. 

While my fingers tingle ... in a 

Tremulous longing to touch 

Your soft white flesh. 

And to caress your silken hair . . . 

My ears are strained to catch your voice, 

And hear you whisper words of love 

To me again. 

And yet . . . it's quite impossible . . . 

You are miarried ! 

And I . . . well, I am married, too. 

And yet, — 

If you should call me, would I come? 

Who knows? 

I've done foolish things before, 

And . . . somehow ... I can't quite forget. 



50 



Songs of a Cynic 



Failure 

Hurled from the top of the ladder, 
Into the yawning black pit; 

Taken from power and glory, 
Labeled among chose unfit; 

Spurned by each and every one. 
Sickened and haunted with shame; 

Ambitionless, lost and degraded, 
A dog, minus even a name; 

Mocked at, shunned and suspected, 
By untold fears assailed; 

Cursed with the curse of curses. 
Because you've tried . . . and failed. 



51 



Songs of a Cynic 



The Cup 

Sparkling wine in the cup, 
Laughter and youth and song, 

Eager to drink it up. 
Sorry when it is gone. 

Dregs of wine in the glass, 
Silence and age and care; 

Winnowing shadows that pass. 
Memories and a vacant stare. 



52 



Songs of a Cynic 



To-day 

To-day I hold within my hand the 

Ashes of a dream. 
As yesterday this sterile sand was 

Cool, and Oh! so green. 

It bloomed with roses, sweet and pure, 

Now broken, withered, dead. 
E'en as the song died on my lips and 

In pain my heart was bled. 

The words of love we spoke so lightly, 

Drift back with solemn tread. 
Seeking to find a resting place, in 

The soul of a love, now dead. 

But with them come fresh thoughts of you and 

All youVe grown to mean. 
God, pity me . . . for still I hold within my 
hand — 

The ashes of a dream. 



53 



Songs of a Cynic 



Truth 

All that glitters is not gold, 
Nor all that shines, a star; 

Oft times the glitter fools us. 
And dross gleams from afar. 

If we could only see beyond. 
The painted, well-set scenes; 

If we could only realize 

Our fondest hopes and dreams. 



54 



SONGS OF LIFE 



Songs ofjljfe 



Clouds 

From night until dawn, 
They go wandering on. 
From dawn until night, 
They continue in flight. 

Some tinted with gold, 
Others gray, dark, and cold ; 
Some glisten like foam. 
Others dull like red loam. 

Always onward they fly, 
Boldly mounting the sky. 
Disappearing from sight. 
Plunging onward in flight. 



57 



Songs ofj^ife 



Requital 

Hard is the road we travel, 

Weary, dusty and long. 
Some of us do it sadly. 

Others with laughter and song. 

The snags and snares are many. 

Some pass them without a sigh. 
Others reckless and careless, 

Are caught in the webs, like a fly. 

And the spider gloats and stalks. 

On the poor ones caught in his traps. 

Helpless, wretched, degraded, 

As the wounded bird her torn wing flaps. 

Though some are doomed to suffer, 

And I have suffered, too. 
Life cannot always be gladness. 

Without a tinge of blue. 

We cannot live by sunshine. 

Without our drops of rain. 
So some are given happiness. 

While others live in pain. 

But when our road we've traveled. 

And the end comes in sight. 
You can trust to God in heaven. 

To set your earthly wrongs right. 

So if you've smiles instead of tears, 

Or are withered as a clod. 
Remember up above you'll be happy. 

When you see the "Glory of God." 

58 



Songs ofj^ife 



On the Big Prairie 

When your ridin' in the evenin', 

And the daylight slowly fades, 
The timber's wrapt in quiet, 

A hush is on the world; 
You hear the pines a-whisperin', 

As they're swayin' to and fro, 
And the pony takes his leisure, 

As homeward slow you go. 

The twilight's softly dimmin', 

And the stars are comin' out; 
Way off the coyote's barkin'. 

From his roamin' prairie home ; 
And the moon comes up a-gieamin'. 

And lights up the forest gloom, 
And you hear the waters rushin' 

Down the mountain with a boom. 

There's a feelin' comes a-stealin', 

As you're ridin' there alone, 
The bigness sort of grips you. 

And fills you full of fear; 
And the world is now all quiet, 

With a silence you can hear, 
And you see the shadows sneakin', 

A-flittin', dark and drear. 



59 



Songs ofJ^ife 
Little Sad Smile 

Little sad smile, 
Can't you be gay ; 

Can't you be happy ; 
Why can't you play ? 

Must you be moody ; 

Can't you be glad ; 
Can't you be cheerful? 

Why are you sad ? 



60 



Songs of^fe 



The Stray 

Moon and stars, 

Shining above, 
Strings in your heart 

Are singing of love. 

The grave, gaunt pines, 

Towering high, 
Wind gently whispers 

As it blows by. 

River softly flowing 

Across the plain, 
Makes you a-wisihing. 

You were home again. 

Home ! Away of? somewhere. 
Mother and your Dad, 

Sweetheart ever waiting 
To make your heart glad. 

Waiting, just for you, 
Now, for all these years. 

Hoping ever hoping, 
Heart so full of fears. 



61 



Songs ofJ^ife 



The Stray — Continued 

Better hike back now, 
You've had your fling, 

Can't you feel the longing, 
In your heart, to bring 

Happiness to family? 

Time is getting short, 
They won't last forever; 

Make a clean report. 

Turn 5^our steps homeward, 
Greet them all anew; 

And you'll thank God, 
For sparing them — for you. 



62 



Songs ofj^jfe 



Thy Will Be Done 

We poor humans, 

With our mistaken thoughts and plans, 
Selfish, indulgent mortals, 

Thougbtless since life began. 

Are after all, 

But sticky clay 
In the hands of One who moulds 

Our lives, as He chooses. 

And yet, somewhere, some time, some day, 

Our call must surely come. 
And we . . . will simply answer . . . 

Aye, Lord, Thy will ... 'be done! 



63 



Songs ofJ^ife 



Credo 

Live . . . only for to-day, 

The past is gone . . . and done, 

Live . . . only for to-day, 
To-morrow may not come. 

What might have happened yesterday, 

Now's past beyond recall, 
What joys or pains to-morrow brings 

May never come at all. 

So take your life in hand to-day, 

And live it at its best, 
Let past and future sleep in peace, 

Live . . . for to-day . . . that's best. 



64 



Songs ofJlife 



Sunset 

Long purple shadows, 

Streaked here and there, with 

A stab of crimson flame; 

In back — 

Dim hazy blue, fading into 

Steel gray; 

While slowly into the West, 

Behind the somber hills, 

Sinks 

A golden ball. 



G5 



Songs ofj^jfe 



The Elements 

The fire's bright, Fm all alone, 
The howling winds around me moan. 
The snow comes down in tumult white, 
The cold and darkness seem to bite. 
The frost creeps on the window pane ; 
A noise to catch, my ears I strain. 

A moaning whimper, faint and drear, 
From outside I seem to hear. 
I guess it only is the storm, 
Unknown sounds my fancies form. 
It could not be someone in pain. 
But, hark! I hear it once again. 

Now quickly to the door I rush. 

The wind and sleet are forming slush. 

I peer about, but fail to see 

The slightest trace of aught but me. 

Imagination has its way. 

The elements are at their play. 

The moaning winds, now still and hu^h, 
No longer tearing with a rush, 
'Cross the white and frozen land, 
Down to the sea, upon the sand. 
The trees no longer lean and sway, 
The elements have ceased to play. 



66 



Songs ofj^ife 



God's Land 

The mountains rear their snow-white peaks, 

Towards the sun and moon; 
While down below the rivers flow, 

With a quiet peaceful tune. 

The trees are gowned in capes of green, 

And all around I see, 
The handwork of God's great might, 

Whidh He gave to you and me. 



67 



Songs ofJ^fe 



Until 

Yesterday this flower . . . bloomed, 
To-day . . . withered . . . dead, 

To-morrow it may not be a flower. 
But you or I . . . instead. 

And so our yesterdays are gone, 
To-morrows may not come, 

So we must live our lives . . . to-day, 
Till life's cycle we have run. 



Songs ofj^ife 



Summer Sea 

Come ! Come ! 

Steal away wirii me. 

Forget for an hour . . . your 

Cares and woes. 

Romp by the sea, 

As it rushes up and over 

The hot, glistening rocks. 

Build high . . . your castles in the sand, 

Forget . . . Forget. 

Laugh . . . Laugh, 

Spend an hour with the gods 

On earth. 

And breathe the fragrance 

Of the world. 



69 



Songs ofj^ife 



Nice ... on the Riviera 

Quiet . . . green and blue sea. 

Lazy, drifting gulls 'gainst 

An azure sky. 

Pink and white villas . . . like jewels 

Set in the silent mountains, 

With t*heir snow and cloud 

Capped peaks, 

Seeming to pierce the very sky. 

While a gentle breeze sways 

The palm trees and stirs the perfume 

Of the myriad flowers. 



70 



Songs ofJlJfe 



Rest 

The stars peep from on high, 
The big world heaves a sigh 
Of contentment and of rest. 
The moon's round face is pale, 
Dimly lighting hill and vale, 
The weary head drops down to rest. 



71 



So?2gs ofJ^ife 



The Singer 

Death holds no terrors for me, 
I shall greet him with lifted head; 

As Fve shared my soul with many, 
I shall live again with the dead. 

I have fashioned my songs of pleasure, 
And those of pain — not a few ; 

So I drift into the darkness. 
Knowing my songs are true. 



72 



Songs ofjljfe 



The End 

I have lived my life, 
I have 'had my tasks 
To shirk or gladly do ; 

I have done my best, 
Tried all to please, 
My fate I leave to you ; 

I have sung my songs 
Be they good or bad, 
I give them all to you. 



18 



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